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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822695">Oceans Apart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme'>SunflowerSupreme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Witcher (A/B/O) [36]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Nightmares, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:27:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822695</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>But was it worth it?</i>
</p>
<p><b>Oceans Apart</b><br/>To have a great distance between two people.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Witcher (A/B/O) [36]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Priscilla wouldn’t stop watching him.</p>
<p class="p1">Dandelion knew he no doubt looked like a mess, he’d taken to pacing instead of sleeping, and skipping meals to forget his worries at the Passiflora. It was after one such night, when he was returning home later than he usually did, that she rounded on him.</p>
<p class="p1">“Where have you been?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.</p>
<p class="p1">Dandelion only shrugged. His head throbbed. He’d allowed himself a small sip of wine before he’d gone, and was craving more already. That wouldn’t do.</p>
<p class="p1">He needed to get to bed before the temptation became overbearing.</p>
<p class="p1">Priscilla stepped in his way, physically blocking him from reaching the stairs. “You’re a mess!” she said. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m fine.”</p>
<p class="p1">“No, you aren’t!” He pushed her out of the way with his cane, and slowly started up the stairs, hoping that she would give up and stay behind.</p>
<p class="p1">“Dandelion!” No such luck, she continued up the steps behind him. “What happened? You have a black eye!”</p>
<p class="p1">Again, he could only shrug. “Its- it’s nothing,” he lied. Telling anyone that he’d been accosted by an Alpha would only worry them more. If he wasn’t careful, they’d try to keep him under lock and key.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>I’m not weak</em>, he thought bitterly. <em>I can do whatever I want. Fuck them</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">“I stumbled.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Dandelion…” she groaned. “You don’t get a black eye from <em>falling</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">He stopped on the landing turning to look at her with narrowed eyes. “I’ve been taking care of myself for nearly fifty years,” he snarled. “I can continue for a few more.”</p>
<p class="p1">She signed and gave up, shaking her head as he resumed making his way slowly up the stairs. Once in his room he shut the door behind him and bolted it.</p>
<p class="p1">Finally, he was alone.</p>
<p class="p1">Dandelion tossed his cane aside and sat heavily on the bed, rubbing his temples. <em>Geralt will be back</em>, he promised himself. <em>And then everything will be </em><b><em>fine</em></b>.</p>
<p class="p1">It was easier to say it than to believe it.</p>
<p class="p1">“You’re doing fine,” he said aloud. “Really, perfectly fine. Think where you were a year ago.”</p>
<p class="p1">He’d been shit-faced in Vizima, convinced the man in front of him was no more than an illusion.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Has it really only been a year since he came back?</em> Dandelion shook his head, unable to process how much had happened. His life had taken a dramatic shift for the better, then, immediately fallen back apart.</p>
<p class="p1">“But was it worth it?”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Yes</em>. He decided. Yes, it had been worth everything to have Geralt back. Even if it meant risking his life every day, at least he had his friend.</p>
<p class="p1">Dandelion sighed and glanced around him, studying the room and wondering how long he would be able to stay. Perhaps once Geralt returned they would leave again, traveling around as they once had. That might be for the best.</p>
<p class="p1">Ever since the last of the mages had escaped Novigrad, the Witch Hunters had turned their ire on others: Non-Humans and Omegas, mostly. Dandelion’s safety relied on people’s continued assumption that he belonged to Geralt.</p>
<p class="p1">If it was revealed that the mating mark on his shoulder was drawn in ink then he’d be carted off, back to the dungeon below Temple Isle.</p>
<p class="p1">He shivered.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>I’d rather die than go back there</em>, he thought. Sometimes he could still feel the cold seeping into his bones, the loneliness. Perhaps it had been best that they’d simply thrown him in a cell and left him to rot - he’d heard what had happened to the others around him, after all. They’d wanted him to remain pretty and recognizable for his execution. If there was any doubt as to his identity then the people of Oxenfurt would have simply brushed him off as an imposter.</p>
<p class="p1">Even during his heat, he’d been alone, one thing he remained grateful for. He’d spent days screaming in need and pain, unable to stand and pace because of his feet. The only thing that had kept him going was thinking that Ciri would find Geralt and save him.</p>
<p class="p1">Then Geralt had found him, but not Ciri.</p>
<p class="p1">That had been frustrating, to say the least, because he’d wanted it to be over once Geralt found him. He’d wanted to go back to the Chameleon and have the business with the phylactery, the Hunt, and everything else already resolved.</p>
<p class="p1">But it continued to drag on.</p>
<p class="p1">He shook his head, mentally cursing Priscilla for having ruined his post-coital bliss from the visit to the Passiflora. He’d given up on anal sex - that was something he would deal with later - and only visited the brothel when he wanted to have a good time.</p>
<p class="p1">It was nice to forget about his problems, even if only for a short time. Otherwise, he’d end up hurting himself again.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d managed to stop, not cutting himself since the day Triss had found him in the bath, but the temptation remained like a sickening itch.</p>
<p class="p1">Much like his craving for alcohol.</p>
<p class="p1">Dandelion wasn’t stupid. He knew he couldn’t fend off both cravings forever. If Geralt didn’t come back soon, he didn’t know what he would do.</p>
<p class="p1">“Geralt will be back soon,” he said again. “He won’t die this time.” But the words felt hollow. With a shiver, Dandelion pulled the covers over himself, not even bothering to undress.</p>
<p class="p1">Hopefully, his dreams would be pleasant. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning: There’s non-con and flashbacks of an underage child being abused.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <em>“Oh gods,” he moaned. “Oh gods it hurts.” </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>“Easy,” his partner murmured, “you’ll be fine, Dandelion.”</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>“It’s too much I-” </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>“It’s not too much,” soothed Geralt, removing his fingers from Dandelion’s ass to stroke his side. “You’ve had it before.”</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>He’d been in heat before, which had left him loose and slick, but when he wasn’t in heat the feeling of even a few fingers inside him was like being stabbed by a knife. “Let me get more oil,” said Geralt. “I’ll stretch you more before I knot you.” </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Geralt’s knot would destroy him if he wasn’t in heat, he was beyond certain of that. </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Dandelion was fighting back tears by the time Geralt declared him stretched enough. “Relax, poet,” the Witcher murmured. “This will feel good.” </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>“I- I know,” he lied. </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>When Geralt pressed inside him he screamed. </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">Dandelion woke up drenched in cold sweat. <em>It was only a dream</em>, he told himself sternly. <em>Geralt isn’t like that</em>. He still hadn’t figured out what exactly he was going to do when Geralt returned, how he would be able to have sex with him, but he would figure it out. <em>I have a mouth</em>, he thought. <em>I’d rather offer that than my ass</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">For a moment he laid on his back, panting, then he pushed himself up and stumbled to his nightstand where a basin of water sat.</p>
<p class="p1">He dunked his head into the water, then straightened up. In the mirror, his reflection stared back miserably. Then it spoke. <em>You’re disgusting</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">“Shut up,” he told it.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Whore. Spreading your legs for anyone, begging for it</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s not my fault. I’m an Omega-”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Omegas are weak and pathetic, just like you</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Dandelion closed his eyes. Water dripped from his hair, running over his face in sticky, uncomfortable rivulets.</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Omegas are meant for breeding, and you can’t even manage that properly, can you? You let her ruin you, let her take the only part of you that mattered. </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">He shook his head again, his mouth feeling dry. “Annarietta allowed-” his voice trailed off, realizing how pathetic it sounded. Annarietta had <em>allowed</em> him to be sterilized, because he’d needed an Alpha’s permission.</p>
<p class="p1">“Annarietta arranged it for me. Because I wanted it.”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>There’s no use for you. You can no longer bare children. You know what that means. </em>The face in his mirror morphed, no longer his own it had become his father. Then it stepped out of the mirror.</p>
<p class="p1">“No!” Dandelion stumbled away from his mirror with a sob. “Father, father please-” He stumbled and fell, catching himself on the wall in his haste to escape.</p>
<p class="p1">“I should have killed you years ago, Julian,” said the Viscount. He was older than Dandelion the last time Dandelion had seen it, his hair grey and his face lined.</p>
<p class="p1">“Father,” he whimpered, falling to his knees.</p>
<p class="p1">The viscount was unimpressed. “Remind me what happens when Omegas can no longer be bred.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Father, father I-”</p>
<p class="p1">“Recite!”</p>
<p class="p1">It was so easy to fall back into old habits, and Dandelion found himself quoting The Book with ease. “<em>When the Omega reaches the end of their fertility, it is up to their Alpha to decide what fate is to be offered them. A retired Omega may still be used for pleasure, but the Author of this book finds that to be a waste of valuable resources-</em> father please!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Finish reciting the passage or I shall take a cane to you.”</p>
<p class="p1">Dandelion’s voice shook as he whispered, “<em>The quickest way to handle them is to wait until</em>-” he choked, tears staining his cheeks “-<em>until they are in heat, when they are most vulnerable. A knife to the throat is the quickest way to retire them</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">There was a knife in his father’s hand.</p>
<p class="p1">Dandelion stumbled into the hall, but he wasn’t in the Chameleon, instead he found himself in the dark and twisting halls of his childhood home. A man in a robe was waiting for him.</p>
<p class="p1">“Come Julian,” the priest said, taking his hand. His hand was small, and when he looked down, he felt a wave of sickness, recognizing the outfit he was wearing.</p>
<p class="p1">He was thirteen again, and it was the evening of his presentation. But even though he knew what was coming, he couldn’t do anything as he followed the man through the halls.</p>
<p class="p1">“What’s happening?” the young Julian asked. His neck hurt from where his scent glands had opened only hours before, and he was still confused, not understanding why his father had looked at him with disgust when he’d gone to him to tell him that his throat had started to bleed.</p>
<p class="p1">“Everything will be fine,” said the man. He followed after him into the kitchens, which were strangely empty. Every other time he’d ventured into the kitchens they’d been bustling with life, but on that day they’d been silent and empty.</p>
<p class="p1">“Take off your clothes and I’ll look at your neck.”</p>
<p class="p1">Foolishly, Julian obeyed him, stripping out of his clothes, which were becoming damp with sweat, and setting them aside. The priest helped him onto the table, then had him lay on his back.</p>
<p class="p1">Before he knew what was happening, his legs and wrists were being tied to the legs of the table. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Father! Help!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Quiet, Julian,” said the priest. “This will sting, but you will be grateful for it when you are too busy suckling children to keep yourself clean.”</p>
<p class="p1">“What do you mean?” He demanded.</p>
<p class="p1">The man stepped closer, suddenly holding a sharp scalpel. “I’m going to remove your foreskin,” he explained.</p>
<p class="p1">Julian didn’t even know what that was until the cutting started. The pain of what came next was something he would never forget.</p>
<p class="p1">When it was done, the priest helped him to stand, helped him back into his clothes, and led him upstairs. “You father would like to see you,” he said.</p>
<p class="p1">But when he stepped through the door into his father’s study the priest was no longer with him, and he was no longer a boy of thirteen.</p>
<p class="p1">He was seventeen, and an Alpha had come to visit. He was a neighboring lord, one that the Viscount wanted something from. He’d been offered Julian in exchange.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’d like to see him,” the man said. Julian thought he was pretty, and he had a surprisingly kind face for an Alpha. They were probably close in age, but the Alpha had several inches in height on Julian,</p>
<p class="p1">“Strip, Julian,” said his father.</p>
<p class="p1">His face burned as he obeyed, knowing that any resistance would be met with a whipping and going to bed hungry. Julian undressed slowly, once he was done, he studied his feet and mentally recited a poem he’d discovered in a book that had slipped by his tutors.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>Sometimes things don’t go, after all, </em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel</em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail,</em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="p1">He was only vaguely aware that they were talking about them, paying just enough attention to make sure they didn’t ask for anything from him.</p>
<p class="p1">“Julian come here,” said the stranger, motioning him over. He walked toward him slowly, stopping just out of his reach. “Closer,” he said.</p>
<p class="p1">Julian took a tiny step forward.</p>
<p class="p1">“Face away and touch your toes.”</p>
<p class="p1">He turned his back on the man and bent over, touching his toes, exposing his ass to the stranger. A hand rested on his hip, then two hands spread his ass, inspecting his hole.</p>
<p class="p1">He closed his eyes and struggled to continue reciting the poem, blocking out the humiliation.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>A people sometimes will step back from war;</em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>elect an honest man, decide they care</em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.</em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>Some men become what they were born for.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="p1">“Stand up,” said the stranger. “Turn around, show me your cock.”</p>
<p class="p1">He obeyed wordlessly, turning to face the man and standing with his legs partially spread. The man lifted his cock, holding it between two fingers. Then he squeezed his balls with his other hand, making Julian whimper.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’d like him to be shaved,” said the stranger after a moment, removing his hands from Julian’s privates.</p>
<p class="p1">“It can be arranged,” promised the Viscount.</p>
<p class="p1">The stranger made Julian sit in his lap, tucking the young man’s head under his chin. “How are his heats handled? Is he given a toy to fuck himself?”</p>
<p class="p1">“No,” said the Viscount. “He’s untouched.” Julian swallowed and tried to remember the last lines of the poem.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>Sometimes our best efforts do not go</em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.</em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow</em>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="p1">“What do you want?” asked the stranger finally.</p>
<p class="p1">Without thinking, Julian replied, “I want to go to Oxenfurt.” Immediately he knew he should have kept his mouth shut and he curled his shoulders, waiting for his punishment.</p>
<p class="p1">Both alphas were silent for a moment, then they began to laugh. “You didn’t tell me he was funny,” said the stranger.</p>
<p class="p1">The Viscount</p>
<p class="p1">“Julian,” soothed the stranger, cupping his cheek. “Omegas don’t go to University.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’d like to study poetry,” he managed weakly.</p>
<p class="p1">The man shook his head. “I will buy you poetry books,” he said, speaking down to him as though he were a particularly stupid child, even though they were nearly the same age. “You may read them while you nurse my children.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I want to be a troubadour.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You can’t be a troubadour,” said the stranger. “Troubadours must travel, but you, my Omega, shall stay at home. I have a beautiful room prepared for you.”</p>
<p class="p1">Julian didn’t want a room filled with poetry books. He wanted the world. He wanted to see everything, to touch it. He wanted to kiss pretty women and fall into bed with them.</p>
<p class="p1">But he lowered his head and whispered, “Thank you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The poem he recited is Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“Easy Dandelion, easy.”</p><p class="p1">He moaned and tried to open his eyes, then was rewarded with a splitting headache from the sun streaming in through his windows. “Fuck,” he muttered.</p><p class="p1">“That’s what you get for drinking two bottles of wine.” He managed to follow the voice, to see Priscilla standing over him, her arms folded over her chest.</p><p class="p1">“I- I did?”</p><p class="p1">“You went downstairs last night,” she reminded him. “You said you couldn’t sleep. It seems it gave you nightmares.”</p><p class="p1">“Nightmares?” How much of what he remembered had been a nightmare? The rape had been, he was certain of that, but the voices in his mirror? Had that been the alcohol? </p><p class="p1">“I found you sleep walking this morning,” she said. “Dragged your dumb ass back in here.”</p><p class="p1">He frowned. Then asked, “Why am I naked?”</p><p class="p1">“Beats me,” she said with a shrug. “Found you like that.”</p><p class="p1">He blinked slowly, letting Priscilla offer him a robe to wrap around himself. “Dandelion-”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not going to talk about it,” he said sharply.</p><p class="p1">“I thought as much,” she confessed. “I- just don’t let it happen again, Dandelion.”</p><p class="p1">“I won’t.”</p>
  </div></div>
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